


Believable

by lionessvalenti



Category: White Collar
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Sickfic, Threesome - F/M/M, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-29
Updated: 2011-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:12:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal's sick, and it's worse than Peter thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Believable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [usakeh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/usakeh/gifts).



> Beta read by Lefaym.

"Is Neal still in bed?" Peter asked. He was straightening his tie as he came downstairs to find Elizabeth sitting at the table alone with a cup of coffee. By now, Neal, who was often the last out of bed, but not the last to the breakfast table, should have been there. How he was able to get ready that quickly, and look impeccable, astounded Peter.

Elizabeth nodded as she poured milk into her mug. "I think he's sick. I went up there when you were in the shower and he was kind of non-responsive. He wouldn't even pull back the covers. He said he was getting up, but that didn't happen."

Peter sat down and poured his own cup of coffee from the steaming pot on the table. "Neal's never sick."

"No one is _never_ sick. It could be that flu bug that's going around."

"Maybe," Peter replied. Sure, half the office was out with it, but it seemed, well... suspect. In all the years Peter had known Neal, and that was now going on twelve years, he'd never known Neal to be sick.

Elizabeth eyed him. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" Peter asked.

"You have 'Neal's up to something' face."

"I have a face for that?" he asked with a smile.

Elizabeth turned her head to the side and frowned at him. "Are you ever going to trust him? He lives in our house, sleeps in our bed, and you're still suspecting him of faking it. Why would he fake it?"

"Because he wants us out of the house so he can plan some caper with his little friend," Peter said before he could even stop himself. He ducked his head down, knowing that was _not_ the answer she wanted to hear. But it was the honest answer, and he was good at giving those.

"I guess that answers the question of your trust," Elizabeth said with a sigh. She got up from the table, and went into the kitchen. Peter knew that to be a sign that the conversation was over -- but the argument wasn't.

Peter quickly drank his coffee and snagged a piece of toast off of Elizabeth's plate before heading upstairs to check on Neal. If he _was_ faking it, Peter was pretty sure he'd be able to tell. That would settle everything.

He sat down on the bed and gently shook the Neal-shaped lump that was beneath a pile of blankets. "Neal?"

There was a soft grunt and after a moment, the lump moved and the blankets were pushed back, revealing Neal's flushed face.

Right away, Peter was certain that Neal wasn't faking it. He instinctively reached his hand out and pressed it to Neal's cheek -- yup, definitely a fever.

Well, now he felt bad, but he pushed that aside. It wasn't time to feel guilty, it was time to think about Neal and what he needed.

"Hey, buddy, how're you feeling?" Peter asked, pushing Neal's messy hair away from his forehead.

"Terrible," Neal replied in a croaky whisper. "It hurts to move."

"I think you got that flu that's been going around."

Neal opened his eyes finally, and no matter how bad he was clearly feeling, he was still able to give Peter a distinctive _you think so?_ expression, but instead of anything sarcastic, he just said, "Yeah, I know."

"What do you need? Juice? Advil?"

"Yes," Neal replied and even tried for a smile. The smile attempt faded as he said, "D'you..."

"What?"

Neal's face turned a darker shade of pink as he blushed. "Could you help me get to the bathroom? I've been meaning to get up for five minutes now."

If there were any lingering doubts of Neal's sincerity in Peter's mind, that washed them away. He could buy that Neal would fake sick, and maybe even know how to fake a fever, but nothing in Neal's makeup would ever have him ask for help in the bathroom unless he was really desperate.

"Of course," Peter replied and stood up, pulling the blankets back and helping Neal out of the bed. Once standing, Neal leaned most of his weight against Peter, and they started the slow walk toward the bathroom.

They ran into Elizabeth as she came out of the bathroom, and she shot Peter her very best _I told you so_ look, but squeezed Neal's arm. "How you doing, baby? You want me to stay home with you?"

Neal shook his head. "I'll be okay. Just need to sleep it off."

Peter knew she had a day full of potential client meetings, making it possibly the worst possible day to try and work from home. Neal knew that too, which was maybe why he said no.

"Okay," she replied and rubbed her hand up and down the sleeve of Neal's pajamas. She gave Peter a smile (she clearly wasn't mad anymore) and said, "I'll be out then. I'll bring home some chicken soup, okay, Neal?"

"Sounds great," Neal replied with a smile.

"I'll call you later, hon," Elizabeth said to Peter and headed back downstairs. After a few seconds, there was the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Peter helped Neal into the bathroom and asked, "What do you need me to do?"

"Nothing," Neal replied quickly. "I just need to..." He dropped his pajama bottoms and sat down on the toilet. "Sit."

"I can..." Peter said, stepping toward the door as Neal began urinating, to give him some privacy, but Neal waved a dismissive hand in his direction.

"I don't care."

So Peter stood there until Neal was done, and helped him up and get his pants back on, and grabbed Neal's arm after Neal insisted he could walk on his own now, followed by a stumble.

"I'm just so tired," Neal said as Peter got him back into bed.

Peter went downstairs and got Neal a tall glass of orange juice, along with a glass of water, and grabbed the bottle of Advil on his way back to the bedroom, but when he got there, Neal was already asleep. He shook Neal awake long enough for him to get a couple pills down, and then let him sleep.

Peter considered staying home, but they were already short-staffed at the office because of this bug, and it wasn't like _he_ was sick. Besides, Neal was an adult. In theory, that meant he could care for himself.

As he walked out the door, Peter promised himself that he would try and get out early. He could bring his work home with him if he needed to.

Throughout the day, Peter thought about calling, he even reached for the phone once or twice, but what if Neal was asleep? He didn't want to wake him. Finally, around two, he couldn't stand it anymore, and packed up his files and headed out.

When he got home, he scratched Satchmo behind the ears to sate him so he could get up the stairs without an attention-starved dog jumping up on him.

Peter found Neal, more or less, exactly how he had left him, asleep in bed, though the cap was off the Advil bottle and both the juice and water glasses were empty.

He sat down on the bed, but Neal didn't stir. Peter pressed a hand to Neal's face and -- was he warmer? it was hard to tell, when the last time he touched Neal had been hours before, but he certainly felt warmer.

They didn't have a thermometer in the house. None of them were prone to illness, and anything they _did_ get wasn't much more than a cold.

He sat there for a few minutes, contemplating what to do. Wake Neal up and get him to drink more? Call a doctor? Neal didn't have one, but Peter wasn't sure if he could get in with his general practitioner within the day. He usually had to make appointments weeks in advance. Maybe the hospital. But what if Neal was okay, except a little flu bug? Neal wasn't on their insurance. Or any insurance. The hospital giving him water and aspirin, just like he was getting here, would cost five times as much.

As Peter waited, hoping that the solution would strike him, he touched Neal's warm face. His thumb ran across the smooth skin of Neal's forehead and Peter stroked Neal's sweat-dampened hair.

God, he loved Neal. There wasn't getting around that. Sure, they still had issues, trust issues, and they probably always would. There would always be a part of Peter that would suspect Neal. He knew Neal too well. No one reforms overnight and Peter was perfectly aware of Neal's lack of impulse control.

But he loved Neal the way he loved Elizabeth. Intensely. Completely.

Peter jumped at the sound of the floorboards creaking, and he looked up to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway of the bedroom. He hadn't even heard the front door open.

"I thought you had meetings today," Peter said as way of a greeting.

"I did, but the second to last one canceled on me, so I canceled on the last one -- I don't think they have the budget for me anyway -- so I could come home." She sat down on Neal's other side and touched his face. "How's he doing?"

"I think the fever's worse," Peter replied. "I can't tell."

Elizabeth frowned. "We should get him up, get some fluids in him. Do you know if he's had anything at all?"

He motioned to the empty glasses. "Just what I gave him before I left. I don't know if he got up for any more."

"Hand me the glass, I'll get him some water. You wake him up."

Peter gave her the empty water glass, and as she walked out of the room, he gently shook Neal's shoulder. "Hey, Neal, wake up."

Neal quivered and tried to shrug away Peter's hand, but after a moment, his eyes flew open and he grabbed Peter's forearm. "Peter. Peter -- Peter, don't let them take me."

"Whoa, it's okay, it was just a dream," Peter said, trying to pry his arm away from Neal, but Neal's grip only tightened.

"I didn't do it," Neal insisted. "I swear, it was the, the, the -- they did it. It was a painting in the sewer in the box. It had a box! A box!"

Peter stared, his heart beating in hard in his throat. The fever was worse. This had to be delirium. He thought about how long it would take to get Neal downstairs (he'd probably need to be carried, and he wasn't exactly light), and to the car, which was parked at the end of the block.

"El?" Perter called over Neal's ramblings. "El, I think we need to take him to the hospital."

Elizabeth came back into the room, glass of water in hand, and immediately set the glass down on the bedside table. "Should I call an ambulance?" she asked. "Can we get him to the car?"

"Ambulance," Peter replied. He wasn't even sure if he'd be able to get Neal be still long enough to carry him.

She nodded and grabbed her cell phone from her pocket. She stepped just outside of the bedroom in the hall, but Peter could make out a few of her words over Neal. "I need an... my husband... delirious..."

"You hear that, buddy?" Peter said to Neal, trying anything to calm him. "She called you her husband. What does that make me?"

But instead of words, Neal just whimpered up at Peter before setting off another spiel about the boxes.

Elizabeth stepped back into the room and frowned at Neal. "The ambulance will be here in fifteen minutes."

"You should wait downstairs," Peter said, and when El shot him a glare, he quickly added, "to let them in when they get here."

Her shoulders dropped. "Right. Right." She touched Neal's hair, but he didn't even notice her, and she went downstairs. Peter could just imagine her pacing in front of the door, resisting the urge to come back upstairs, even though she knew there was nothing she could do. There was nothing either of them could do.

When the ambulance finally arrived (it seemed like _hours_ ) and the EMTs strapped Neal to the gurney, Neal howled, begging Peter to not let them take him. Peter stood there, with Elizabeth's hand wrapped around his wrist, helpless to comfort Neal.

"Go with him," Peter said to El. She didn't like to drive anyway, and it got worse when she was stressed. It was easier to let her go and follow up later with the car.

"Okay." She kissed him and followed the EMTs down the stairs.

Peter waited until they were gone and he thought about rushing out the door, but instead, he packed Neal a bag. A change of clothes, toothbrush, comb. The basics. _Then_ he rushed out the door.

Finding Elizabeth was easy once he got to the hospital and she immediately crumpled into his embrace.

"What are they saying?" he asked.

"I don't know, I've just been filling out forms and I don't know the answers to half of them. I know nothing about Neal's medical history. I don't know if he's allergic to penicillin. Why haven't we ever talked about this stuff?" She shook her head and pulled Peter to a nearby seating area.

El dropped her head onto Peter shoulder and they sat like that until a doctor called out for Caffrey. They clamored out of their seats and went up to the doctor.

"This flu's hitting some people harder than others," the doctor said. "Neal got it hard. His fever topped out at 104.9, and we've got it down to 103, but I'd like to keep him here until it's a few degrees lower. A fever is defensive mechanism for the body, and if it's that high, the virus is strong. We just want to keep an eye on him."

"Can we see him?" Elizabeth asked.

"He's asleep now, but you can go on in."

Neal slept for hours, through every nurse coming in to check his pulse and blood pressure. Peter and Elizabeth took turns going down to the cafeteria for coffee so the room wouldn't be empty when Neal woke up.

It was nearly two in the morning when Neal finally stirred. Elizabeth was curled up, asleep, in one of the visitor's chairs, and Peter was dozing, but he started when he heard rustling from the bed.

Peter jumped up and sat on the bed's edge, taking Neal's hand in his. "Hey, how do you feel?"

"Awful," Neal replied. He opened his eyes and looked around. "And I'm in a hospital."

"Saline drip and all," Peter replied. "You gave us a scare."

"I try not to do that."

"Yeah, I know." Peter brushed the hair away from Neal's face. "Do you remember anything that happened?"

Neal shook his head. "No... I woke up once and drank the juice you left and now here. Was it bad?"

"It was pretty bad, yeah." Peter looked down at his hand, the one clasping Neal's. "I'm sorry."

Neal raised his eyebrows, surprised. "For what?"

"This morning. When El told me you were sick, I... I didn't believe her. I thought you must be faking it. That it was a con of some kind."

"I _wish_ I'd been faking it."

Peter chuckled. "Yeah, well, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I should know you better than that."

Neal shrugged. "You know me better than anyone. That's why I'm not offended. It's fine."

"Well, a day or two here, and we're taking you home. How does a few days of tea and daytime television sound?"

"Boring."

Peter laughed again. "Yeah, no kidding. But I think you're stuck with it. And someone," he motioned toward El, "will insist on it."

Neal turned his head to Elizabeth and smiled. "Yeah, I guess she will." His eyes closed and he moaned softly. "I think I'm going back to sleep."

"Okay. Get some rest, baby." Peter leaned over and pressed a kiss to Neal's forehead. He waited until he was sure Neal was asleep before he got up from the bed and went back to his chair. He smoothed a hand over Elizabeth's hair, and she barely moved. He didn't envy the stiff neck she was going to wake up to, but he was finally at ease.


End file.
